


Shelter In the Storm

by shadowsfan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Stavos fluff, h/c, story telling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsfan/pseuds/shadowsfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis is concerned when Davos is injured.  Davos recalls another time when Stannis took care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter In the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This was a response to a prompt by Vana when she was feeling under the weather. Davos is sick and Stannis takes care of him. It isn't quite that, and it came out in canon which I am terrible at writing so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Then I made her beta her own request so thanks to Vana :)

 

“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?!”  Stannis Baratheon snapped at the sergeant at arms who was nearly running to keep up with the king’s long strides.

 

“You were with Jon Snow and the wildling prisoner, Your Grace.  Your Majesty asked not to be disturbed.”

 

“What if he’d been killed?  Would you have deemed it of importance then?”

 

The sergeant was spared from answering as they entered the makeshift infirmary.  Davos Seaworth lay on a table, a blanket draped over one leg while Samwell Tarly cleaned a bloody wound on the other.

 

“What was the cause of this?”  Stannis demanded loudly to any in the room who might be bold enough to answer.

 

“It was only a glancing blow, Your Grace,” Davos propped himself on an elbow to address Stannis, wincing in pain as he did.  “I was escorting the wildling prisoners to their cells when one attacked me with a crude knife he’d been hiding.  He was subdued immediately and I’m not sorry to say he won’t be attacking anyone else.  I ordered the body burned before they brought me here.”

 

Stannis moved closer in order to get a better look.  Davos continued, trying not appear as shaken as he felt. “I should have been more careful. It won’t happen again.”

 

“Clean the wound thoroughly, Maester.  See that it does not fester,” Stannis ordered, the concern evident in his voice.  He spoke to Sam, but his dark eyes were glued to Davos’ face.

 

“B-begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I’m no maester.” Sam stammered.

 

Stannis fixed him with a glare that would have made men much older than Sam shrink with fear.  Sam continued quickly, “but I _have_ read many books and I’ve studied healing—”

 

Stannis cut him off sharply, “ _I’ve_ read many books, boy, and I’ve seen many more wounds than you have.”  He placed his hand on Davos’ thigh, below the injury, “Ser Davos is the King’s Hand, not some novice squire for you to practice on.  Although it does appear that you’ve managed to stop the bleeding.”  He inspected the injury for a moment then noticed a mark farther down Davos’ leg.   He lightly traced the crescent shaped scar with his finger. “I remember well the day you got this, Ser Davos.”

 

Davos hoped that Sam mistook his sharp intake of breath for a sign of pain and not the type of discomfort he was actually feeling. The rough caress of Stannis’ hand on his thigh and the intensity of his gaze was causing an embarrassingly primal response.  He bunched the blanket up toward his waist to hide his growing arousal. 

 

Thankfully, Sam seemed distracted by the king’s presence and he asked excitedly, “Did it happen in battle, Your Grace?”

 

Stannis’ lips curled into a half smile, and his hand remained where it was, warming the skin beneath.  Davos felt his face begin to flush with heat.  In order to get his mind off of his dilemma, he rushed to answer before Stannis could speak.

 

“No, son, nothing so glorious as that.  It happened during the Greyjoy Rebellion, some years ago. The king and I were much younger men then, though not as young as yourself.  This old wound was caused by my own folly, a tale not worthy of the telling.”

 

“Nonsense,”  Stannis interjected, “tell it as it was.  You were doing your duty by acting as my escort.  It was _my_ decision to accept the goat farmer’s hospitality.”

 

“Yes, but if I’d kept a better hold on the reins of my horse I wouldn’t have ended up on the rocks when he reared.”

 

“Well, you _are_ short four fingers,” Stannis noted bluntly, and without further comment.

 

Sam was looking from Stannis to Davos and back again in confusion.  Stannis sighed as if telling the tale properly was a great hardship.  Davos was grateful that at least it distracted Stannis enough for him to remove his hand from Davos’ leg.

 

“We had crushed the Ironborn fleet off the coast of Pyke and were in residence at the castle to offer terms to Lord Greyjoy.  Food was in short supply due to the number of men on land and still on shipboard.  We gathered a hunting party and rode off to search for game.”

 

“ _You_ went hunting with the men, Your Grace?”

 

“Do I appear so fragile that I cannot sit a horse or shoot a bow?”  Stannis turned to Davos and sniffed, “Robert went hunting more often than he sat on the throne and nobody lifted an eyebrow.  I go hunting but once and the boy acts as astonished as if I’d told him I’d attempted to swim the Narrow Sea.”

 

“Your Grace, I-I didn’t mean—”

 

Davos stifled a snort of laughter.  Samwell would learn soon enough not to interrupt the king when he was telling a story.  Davos, of course, was used to Stannis’ sharp tongue and dared to comment.

 

“What the king didn’t say was that he went hunting because he was bored.”

 

Stannis shot Davos a displeased look. 

 

“You told me to tell it as it was, Your Grace.”

 

“Aye,”  Stannis nodded, scowling.  “Although I’d won the battle for him, Robert didn’t trust me to negotiate the terms of surrender.  We were waiting for a raven from King’s Landing.  We’d been penned up on the Fury for weeks and the men needed some fresh air, myself included.”

 

Davos tactfully interrupted, attempting to divert Stannis from what was sure to be a prolonged round of insults to Robert. “Have you ever been to the Iron Islands, Samwell?”

 

“No, ser, I haven’t.”

 

“There isn’t a game animal to be found on that great pile of rock, or at least we couldn’t find any that day.  We rode for hours and not a stag or pheasant in sight, only a few skinny hare.  At last we happened upon a miserable goat farm and a dozen or so small goats.”

 

“I claimed the goats in the name of King Robert, in order to feed the men, which was my right by law,” Stannis asserted. “but it wasn’t fair to take the poor man’s stock without compensation, so I paid him twice their worth in silver stags.  The man was so grateful he insisted that we stay on and share a meal with him.  I sent the rest of the men back to Castle Pyke with the goats and Ser Davos stayed behind with me.”

 

“That farmer served the toughest goat I’d ever tasted,”  Davos added, grimacing.

 

Stannis ignored him and continued the tale. “It wasn’t safe to be out riding too late.  There were still a few bands of rebels loyal to Balon Greyjoy hiding out in the rocks.  They might have thought the king’s brother would bring a fine ransom, although knowing Robert he would have taken his time paying it.” 

 

Davos sensed that Stannis was again about to wander off on a tangent, so he picked up the thread, earning a glower from the king.  “We rode for Castle Pyke as soon as we could get away, which was nearly sunset.  But it wasn’t the rebels that caused the trouble, it was the storm.  It came up on us sudden and blew inland after we’d been riding about an hour.”

 

“Suddenly,” Stannis corrected.

 

“Suddenly,” Davos went on, his face betraying his excitement at the vivid memory, “there were great sheets of soaking rain and then lightning.  One bolt hit too close.  There was a blinding light and a great boom and my horse reared.  Next thing I knew, I was on my ass on a pile of sharp rocks in a gully near the coast road.  Tore my leg on a jagged one.  I was bleeding like a stuck pig and could hardly walk.” 

 

“How did you make it back?  Were you able to ride?  Did you run into any rebels?”  Sam was so entranced by the tale that he had stopped tending to Davos’ leg.  Stannis’ eyes narrowed and he motioned impatiently for the lad to continue.  Sam quickly complied, tightening the bandage securely and causing Davos to gasp from the pain rather than answer. 

 

After Stannis was satisfied with Sam’s work he continued the narrative, relating more facts and less imagery than Davos’ account.

 

“Ser Davos’ horse had run off and the storm was too bad to attempt further travel.  I found shelter for the two of us under a small overhang of rocks.  You couldn’t call it a proper cave.  There wasn’t any dry firewood, so we shivered there together through the night.  I managed to save a skin of wine from my horse and got enough into Ser Davos that he didn’t feel the pain from his wound, although I’m quite certain he felt plenty from the wine on the morrow.  Come sunrise the storm had passed and we managed to ride on one horse until we met up with the search party that had come from Pyke to fetch us.”

 

Sam smiled and nodded.  Davos exchanged a lingering glance with Stannis.  “Aye, we made it back safely and I was left with a scar to remember it by.” 

 

 _Only that wasn’t all that happened._ Davos wondered if Stannis knew that he remembered what had transpired that night, drifting in and out of consciousness, shivering from the cold and the onset of shock.  Davos remembered how Stannis held him close through the night, and how he ached to be closer still, to feel his skin pressed against Stannis’ warm body.  He remembered how safe he felt wrapped securely in his lord’s strong arms.  He remembered, on the edge of waking from a dream, the warmth of Stannis’ lips and breath as he kissed his forehead and his cheek before tasting his mouth for the first time, and Davos had sighed contentedly and surrendered to the peace of sleep.

 

“Leave us.”  Stannis growled, his eyes still fixed upon Davos’ face.  “I require a word with Ser Davos.” 

 

Stannis waited until Sam and the guard had gone and then moved closer to Davos, once again laying his hand on Davos’ thigh but much higher up this time causing the flames of desire to lick at Davos’ groin with even more intensity than before.

 

“You are not a young man, Onion Knight, and you are no longer a lowly seaman.  You are the King’s Hand and it is your duty to serve me.”  The rough timbre of Stannis’ voice made Davos shiver.  “I’ll thank you — no, I _command_ you — to take better care next time.”

 

Before Davos could protest, Stannis leaned in and kissed his mouth tenderly.  His lips were chapped from the cold and his short beard scratched Davos’ skin, but it was the sweetest kiss Davos could have wished for and he never wanted it to end.

 

“Yes, my king,” Davos whispered against Stannis’ mouth, before forcing himself to pull back.  The heat in Stannis’ blue eyes was such that it nearly made Davos whimper with need but he could not in good conscience allow any further contact between them.

 

“Your Grace,”  Davos said firmly, “someone could walk in at any moment.”

 

Stannis paused a long time, an eternity it seemed to Davos, who sat unyielding under Stannis’ scrutiny.  At last Stannis took a step backward and snapped, “When Robert was king he did as he pleased.  Why must I sacrifice everything I desire for the sake of appearances?”

 

“ _You_ are not Robert,” Davos said simply, which caused Stannis’ lips to entertain a rare and fleeting smile.

 

“On that we can agree.”  Stannis took a deep breath and nodded before pointing a finger at Davos’ injured leg.  “Since you have assured me that this is merely a flesh wound, I will expect you to inspect the fortifications with me as soon as it is light enough to see tomorrow.  Good night, Ser Davos.”

 

“Good night, Your Grace.”  Davos winced again, swinging his legs off the table once Stannis had gone.  He would ask Sam for a little milk of the poppy to help him sleep that night, to soothe the wound in his thigh and temper the fire between his legs.  _We all make sacrifices, my king._

 

 

The End.


End file.
